The Mad Voyage of Prince Malock (45 page)

That got a reaction. Most of the crew began
muttering in disbelief among themselves, while Jenur, who was one
of the sailors closest to him, said, “You're kidding.”

“I kid not,” said Malock, shaking his head. “I've
decided that all of you deserve a chance to walk upon a land spoken
of only in legends. Besides, I would not feel comfortable ending
this voyage by myself. I started it with all of you and will end it
with all of you. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir!” said the sailors in unison, their tone
actually happy for once.

Malock smiled. “Then follow me and Vashnas. We will
lead the way into the city.”

***

A
s Malock and Vashnas, walking side by side,
led the crew down the ramp and onto the large, well-polished wood
dock, Malock glanced over his shoulder at his crew. Most of them
were ragged and dirty, even those wearing the extra clothes
provided by the Mechanical Goddess, hardly the kind of people you'd
expect to see in a city meant for gods and spirits, but he knew he
could trust each and every one of them if he ever found himself in
danger.

That was why he was bringing them all along. He was
not sure why, but ever since World's End came into view, Malock had
the strangest feeling that he was never going to see Carnag or the
rest of the Northern Isles ever again. While he was not afraid of
World's End, he had no intention of staying or dying here. He had a
throne to inherit back home, after all. All he wanted to do here
was find out what Kano had summoned him for and nothing else.

So Malock brought along the entire crew because he
hoped that maybe their numbers would keep him safe. He realized
this was foolish. After all, any one of the gods could easily
destroy them all without even trying. Only he and Vashnas were safe
from harm, being as they were Chosen Ones, but the rest of the crew
wasn't and if the gods did not want them entering their city
...

Malock chose not to dwell on that. He walked with a
confident stride, his head held high, and his chest out. He did not
want to make his men despair, especially when they were so close to
finishing their voyage. As always, he would have to put on a brave
face for them, even if he did not feel brave.

The path they took was a simple cobblestone path,
which wound through a small jungle around the walls of the city.
Overhead, the branches of the trees extended above them, like the
trumpets of the royal trumpeters back home or perhaps more like
miserable guards who were making sure no one escaped. Both images
were appropriate.

It took them maybe ten minutes, if even that, to
reach the outer walls of the city. The walls appeared to be made
out of the purest iron, high and thick and shiny. The walls were
not quite as tall as the buildings they protected (which made
Malock wonder why they had been built at all), but they were
nonetheless imposing, carved as they were with images of all of the
gods of Martir. The images were carved so compactly that making out
one god among the many was almost impossible, but Malock did see a
tiny naked man with a leaf covering his penis among them, a
spitting image of the Loner God. That did not improve his mood
much.

The crew of the
Iron Wind
stood before a
gigantic set of gates. The gates were too huge and thick for any of
them to move. Even if the entire crew worked together, Malock
doubted they could even so much as budge the gates.

Nonetheless, he confidently walked up to the gates
and knocked on them like he would any door. That may have seemed a
strange thing to do, but he had no idea how else to announce their
presence, as he did not see any guards or gatekeepers who he could
talk to.

Almost without warning, the gates began to open
inwards. They made no creaking sounds, did not even appear to have
hinges. They opened silently and gracefully and once they were
opened wide enough, the crew began walking again, entering the
massive city of the gods.

Stepping through the gates of the Throne was not at
all like entering a mortal city. When Malock stepped over the
threshold, a power unlike any he had ever known washed over him. It
was almost enough to drive him to his knees, so unexpected and so
powerful it was. He had never experienced anything quite like it
before. It was like being frisked by a guard, but he saw no hands
and there were no guards in his sight.

He looked at Vashnas, who didn't seem bothered by
it, and said, “Did you feel—?”

Vashnas nodded. “Visitors to the Throne are always
examined by the gods themselves. What you felt was the gods'
collective presence washing over us. And unless I am highly
mistaken, I do believe we have just passed.”

Malock looked at his men. They had all passed over
the threshold without trouble, but they looked disturbed. Many of
them were scratching their bodies, like they had been bitten by
bugs.

“What would have happened if the gods did not
approve of us?” Malock asked.

Vashnas smiled grimly. “Oh, we would have all burst
into flames. Or at least the others would have. You and me would
probably have just been crippled for life.”

Malock didn't quite know what to think of that, but
the thought was driven from his mind when he got his first truly up
close and personal look at the Throne of the Gods.

And what a marvelous city it was. All of the
buildings appeared to be made out of crystal, rubies, emeralds, and
other precious stones and metals that Malock could not even begin
to name. The streets were paved with snow; at least, that's what it
felt like underneath his feet. The stone was not hard, but soft and
comfortable, yet capable of holding the entire weight of the city
on top of it.

Crowds and crowds of katabans—that had to be who
these people were—filled every street. There were young children,
adults, and old people, much like you'd see on any street in any
city, but these people looked different from the people Malock
knew. Their hairstyles ranged from practical bowl cuts to
extravagant flame-styles and those were the more conservative ones.
Malock wondered if magic was what made those hairstyles possible,
but he dismissed the thought instead to focus on his mission.

The katabans watched the sailors walk through the
streets with varying expressions. Some of them looked on in
disgust, because the dirty rags worn by the sailors contrasted so
sharply with the beautiful streets of the city that even Malock
felt embarrassed by it. Most simply watched with interest and
wonder, as if they had never seen so many mortals before in one
place. The children in particular looked on with big eyes, but
whenever Malock looked at them, they turned and scurried away.
Those few children who didn't look away had the eyes of elders, as
if they had already lived a full, rich life and were ready to die
happy.

Yet none of the katabans stopped them or asked who
they were or what they were doing here. Actually, quite the
opposite occurred. Wherever the crew of the
Iron Wind
went,
the crowds of katabans parted. Even the big scary ones with
rippling muscles did not stand in their way.

The crew themselves were utterly silent as they
walked, aside from the sounds of their booted feet walking along
the pavement or the occasional cough or sniffling. There were
certainly a variety of interesting things on display in the city
(such as a salesman hawking a potion that allegedly contained the
healing tears of Atikos), but no one stopped to look at these
things. For that matter, even the most oafish of salesmen went
silent wherever the sailors passed, as if they were a funeral
procession rather than a group of mortals about to meet their
destiny.

Malock immediately understood the general silence
and deference of the katabans. They had known that Malock and his
crew were coming, most likely because Kano told them. He further
speculated that Kano had ordered all katabans to allow the sailors
to go to wherever the gods lived unmolested, although he was
surprised that Tinkar had not ordered any to do otherwise. Perhaps
the God of Fate hadn't expected them to make it this far.

Whatever the case, Malock wondered where they were
going. He asked Vashnas this question.

“To the Temple of the Gods,” Vashnas replied. “That
is where the gods gather whenever they are visiting this island and
it is where Kano likely is.”

“So you know where this Temple is?” said Malock.

Vashnas nodded as the group turned down a street.
“The Throne is different from how I remember it, but the basic
layout appears unchanged, so I imagine we'll find it quickly.”

'Quickly' was perhaps an understatement because not
five minutes after she said that, the group turned down yet another
street and found themselves in what appeared to be the center of
the mighty city. It was a wide-open square, with a shallow,
creek-like moat of water surrounding a magnificent building that
put Carnag Hall to shame.

To call it a palace would be an insult to the
building's greatness. It towered above their heads, not quite as
big as some of the other buildings, but large enough to give off
the impression of divine power. It had dozens of turrets and
towers, each one individually crafted to reflect a different god,
from the fiery flames of one tower to the flowing waves of another.
Water poured out of the channels into the tiny creek-like moat
surrounding it; pure water, even purer than the clear ocean around
the island. Massive gates, made of the most brilliant marble and
pearl, shone in the light of the streetlamps, carved with a symbol
that resembled a sun radiating heat. A short bridge connected the
Temple of the Gods—for that was what it had to be—with the rest of
the street, but even that short bridge looked magnificent, as if
the God of Sculpting himself had designed it.

Perhaps the most striking aspect of it all, however,
was the raw energy radiating from it. There was no mistaking that
energy for anything other than what it was: The very presence of
the gods themselves, manifested so strongly that it was a wonder it
didn't kill the entire crew of the
Iron Wind
right there and
then. It was so powerful that even Malock feared for his life.

Vashnas fearlessly led the crew over the short
bridge right up to the massive gates themselves. Up close, the
gates were inscribed with writing in a language Malock could not
read, yet which he understood to be the language of the gods. Every
letter appeared to have been crafted with individual, exquisite
care, so that even though it was impossible for Malock to read, he
knew that it was above and beyond anything mortals could create
with pen and ink.

Their journey was cut short, however, when something
massive jumped down from one of the nearby towers and landed on the
street in front of them, blocking their access to the gates. Even
before the giant rose to its full height, Malock had no trouble
recognizing the Verch or, as it was properly known,
Messenger-and-Punisher.

Of course, the rest of the crew—barring Banika,
Vashnas, and Jenur—had never seen it before. Most of them cowered
in fear at the massive, tentacled giant, while the braver (or
perhaps dumber) ones had drawn their weapons and looked prepared to
battle.

Messenger made that strange sucking sound again and
a moment later a familiar green blob of ooze shot from its obscured
face. The blog splashed onto the street, its grime stopping just
short of Malock's boots, and then a familiar upper humanoid body
rose from it, looking exactly the same as it had on the day that
Messenger had mistakenly taken Telka away.

“Messenger,” said Malock, holding up his hand to
signal to his crew not to attack it. “I did not expect to see you,
of all entities, here. I thought you would be out running errands
for the gods.”

Messenger grunted. “Special request from Kano. Be
gatekeeper for day. Boring as wood.”

Malock had a hard time understanding how even a job
as routine as gatekeeper could ever be boring in such a majestic
city, but he nodded anyway and said, “Well, since Kano summoned me,
I must ask you to step aside and let me inside. That is what I am
here to do, after all.”

“Fine,” said Messenger. “But no crew. Stay out.”

“What?” said Malock. “Why can't I bring them in with
me?”

“Tinkar's orders,” Messenger said.

“So he's here, too?” Vashnas said, her voice a
mixture of dread and anticipation.

Messenger looked at her closely for a moment before
saying, “Yes. Malock, Vashnas, and Kinker must go in alone.”

Malock raised an eyebrow. “Did you say Kinker?”

“Yes,” Messenger said, nodding. “No understand?”

“No, no, I do,” said Malock. “But why Kinker?”

“Not understanding,” said Messenger, in obvious
reference to himself. “Messenger, not god. Ask them if you wish to
know.”

Malock looked over his shoulder at Kinker, who
looked as shocked as anyone else at his being singled out.
Nonetheless, the elderly man joined Malock and Vashnas at the front
of the crowd, perhaps because he did not dare disobey the dictates
of whichever god had summoned him inside.

“What about the rest of my crew?” said Malock to
Messenger. “You aren't going to harm them, are you?”

“No,” said Messenger. “They stay. I watch.”

“Ah,” said Malock. “All right. As long as you don't
harm them—“

“No reason to,” said Messenger. “After doctor, no
trust myself.”

Malock was surprised to hear what sounded like
regret in the Messenger's voice. True, it was always difficult to
gauge the emotions of non-mortals, but the way the Messenger looked
away—if only for the briefest of seconds—and its tone of voice told
the prince that it was ashamed of having taken Telka
mistakenly.

Then Messenger went back to its usual stoic demeanor
and said, “Malock, Vashnas, and Kinker. Enter now.”